Life Without Mother

I was actually working on one of my novels when I was struck with this paradox. And, I realized due to the more current personal nature of this paradox in the first four years of my grief, I hadn’t written about it yet. But, I think it is something that many struggle with, whether from the loss of a spouse, a parent, a sibling, a child, a dear friend.

It’s the struggle of the newly empty (often physical) space in your life. For example, the empty chair at the dinner table. The place that loved one always held in your life. Now empty.

No face smiling back at you, voice responding to yours, hands to pass the dishes of food from their end of the table to yours. The familiarity of their shape and personality filling that space, leaving only air in its absence. Vacant, aimless expanse in the wake of a solid, tangible presence. And yet, the void produces a palpable tension in its longing to be filled. As long as that chair remains empty, an open reminder of the poignant loss remains. (I believe this is often when redecorating or down-sizing, or even moving to a whole other city or town, is used to physically remove the constant reminder of loss. And though this new-beginning escapism is quite effective and healing, and worth exploring, this subject must be discussed in a different post.)

Thus, as life moves on, that tension remains and yearns to be resolved. The void satisfied. And so, the space begins to be filled once more. That chair is offered as a seat to someone else. And the someone else is — more often than not, though fictionalized stories frequently portray a different account — wonderful. A true blessing.

The person — that new spouse, parent, sibling, child, friend — that person adds a joy to life in the midst of the sorrow, and sometimes come in the shadowed form of the one you lost. (A new dear friend, for example, who is now that special confidant and companion in the daily ups and downs of life, filling the empty space on the other side of that text or phone call, or the seat across the table of your favorite coffee shop.) This person “fills” the gap. And yet, sometimes the new presence itself creates a new tension.

Even in the most favorable place where there is no guilt in developing a relationship with this person who “fills” the gap in some way, there is still the struggle of then reconciling this person as NOT “filling” a gap, or “replacing” the prior relationship. Mentally, perhaps, it can be simple to understand this from a logical perspective: This person has a unique relationship with you. And, as such, there is unequivocal love for that person.

But, especially when it is that person who fills the once empty chair — and before that, occupied for what you thought would be much longer than it was — now the reminder becomes the presence of another. And often another’s presence whom you wish could have simply been present along with the one you lost.

The tension of the empty chair seems much less complicated. A void wasn’t hurt by avoidance or tears in a glance. Now filled again, the other presence has valuable feelings, too. Feels tension just as much. Relationships colored by past relationships, intentionally or unintentionally. It’s this paradox of life and loss. Joy in the midst of sorrow.

And honestly, from my own experience of this paradox, I’m beyond grateful for the Holy Spirit Who convicts and comforts, prompts reconciliation and grace. He is the only One who can provide peace in this paradox, and I am a thankful witness to His healing and peace.